Author's Note: Written for QLFC finals round two. Prompt: body swap trope. This is a plot bunny I've had for a while. Silvanus Kettleburn, Care of Magical Creatures professor, received 62 probations during his tenure at Hogwarts, and I always wondered what he could've done to earn so many and not be sacked. So this collection will explore that.
Also, I don't normally write humor, but I figured this would be a bit of a nice break from the darker stuff I've been writing. Sorry if it sucks. XD Thanks to Arty for her beta!
Fics in this collection are in no particular order and occur at different points in the timeline.
The tittering died out and the classroom fell silent as Professor Kettleburn hobbled in, his prosthetic leg clumping every other step.
"Have I got a treat for you lot today," he announced.
"Is it another field trip?" Ignatius Prewett asked, leaning forward in his seat as he awaited the answer. Always looking for the next adventure, that one, but all he ever seemed to find was trouble. Not that Kettleburn was one to talk, of course.
"Not this time. After last week's visit to the kitchens, I've been asked to limit my lectures to the classroom or the designated area by the Forbidden Forest. I don't know, something about having caused too much work for the House-Elves."
While it hadn't necessarily been his intention, Kettleburn had to admit that maybe things had gotten a bit out of hand. One moment lunch was being served by several dozen dutiful House-Elves, and the next food was flying through the air. There was no telling who had started it, but the House-Elves sure won it—aside from having to clean the mess. Even so, it was a splendid demonstration of wandless magic.
Kettleburn flicked his wand at various things around the room. The door slammed shut and the shades drew themselves, plunging the class into darkness. A few more spells to put up the appropriate wards and he gave the students a satisfactory nod.
"This is even better. We've been discussing Elves and Elvish rights, and of course we got to visit the House-Elves. But there are two sides to every story. So without further ado, I present to you a Wild Elf!"
Right on cue, there was a pop at the front of classroom, and a small figure stirred among the shadows. Kettleburn grinned as he surveyed the students—some leaning forward eagerly, some with knitted brows. They smiled and whispered, poked their neighbors, scooted closer. They were engaged. As much as the other professors complained about the upcoming generation, Kettleburn concluded that as long as you could find something to captivate even an iota of their curiosity, they were capable of remarkable things.
"This is a Wild Elf. They're brilliant creatures who have formed communities of their own and remain free from Wizard-kind. His name's...Well, uh, I guess I don't really know his name. He refuses to tell me." Kettleburn stroked the stubble on his chin as he frowned momentarily before continuing. "I've just been calling him Gollum, seeing as how he sure talks to himself a lot."
A couple of the kids chuckled, but the majority remained confused, which was disheartening.
"Sir?" Felix Longbottom asked, glancing around at his peers as he chewed his lower lip. "What's a Gollum?"
"Will this be on the test?" a normally quiet Ravenclaw tacked on.
"It's a Muggle thing and no, you don't need to know it. Though you should. Twenty points to Ravenclaw for those of you who recognized the name. What can you tell me about Wild Elves?"
A few hands shot up, mostly on the Ravenclaw side, but they were the usual suspects. That was too easy. Time to shake things up a bit.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," Kettleburn said as his eyes settled on the Gryffindor in the back who looked rather unimpressed as he mussed his black hair. "Give me one fact about Wild Elves."
"Uh, well, they're magical."
"I sure hope so since this is Care of Magical Creatures. So how about something more specific?"
"They have their own sort of magic. Different from ours."
"Different how? Can anyone help him out? Yes, Ms. Travers?"
"Um." The Ravenclaw leaned back in her chair, twirling her limp, black hair around a finger as she thought. It had surprised everyone when she had been sorted into Ravenclaw, and Kettleburn was beginning to understand why. After a few more seconds of playing with her hair, she said, "They don't use wands?"
"Is that a question or an answer?"
"An answer?"
Since that was clearly the best he was going to get, Kettleburn moved on.
"That's right. Wild Elves are capable of powerful wandless magic. This one, in particular, was kind enough to agree to see us today, so I'll quit prattling on up here and let him take the floor." Kettleburn turned to the Elf and, stepping to the side, said, "If you'd be so kind."
The Elf shuffled forward, wringing his bony hands together. He barely raised his feet as he moved, but the cloth they were covered in ghosted silently across the floor. His outfit was reminiscent of a toga, leaving one shoulder bare, and was several sizes too big for his gaunt frame. He stood there without speaking, blinking blue eyes that looked too big for his head.
"Well, go on. Don't be shy," Kettleburn urged, motioning his hand towards the class.
The Elf swept his gaze around the room, wringing his hands even more furiously. And then he stopped. A grin split his dark countenance and he spoke in a hoarse, raspy voice.
"Theod is a free Elf with no master. You want a demonstration? Theod will show you."
With a snap of his fingers, the chairs began to wriggle and pitch, causing the students to clutch their edges like inexperienced Hippogriff riders afraid of getting bucked off. There were murmurs of surprise and delight as the chairs began to levitate.
"That's a splendid demonstration, Gol—er, Theod." Kettleburn clapped emphatically and shot the Elf an encouraging grin.
"Theod is not yet done. There is so much more. Theod will show you."
A loud pop echoed around the room as the Elf disappeared to Merlin knew where, leaving a sinking sensation in the pit of Kettleburn's stomach. For the first time that day, he reflected on the merits of bringing a Wild Elf into Hogwarts. Dippet wasn't going to like this. No, not even a smidgen. Best track the thing down and get the situation under his thumb before anyone found out this time.
"I, uh—" he started to say, turning back to the class, but he stopped short as he surveyed the scene. Some of the Ravenclaws had had the sense to abandon their chairs before they reached the ceiling and were now gathered in a circle looking dejected and confused by the disruption. The Gryffindors, however, led by Potter and Prewett, had split into two factions and were playing some bastardized version of chair Quidditch.
"I'll be back," Kettleburn shouted at them before running into the hall, if that's what one could call his awkward gait. He glanced down at his one and a half legs, rubbing the stubble that lined his chin thoughtfully. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for some help after all.
Kettleburn kept an eye out for any signs of Theod as he made his way to the Grand Staircase, but everything was quiet and unaffected. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Then why did it unnerve him so? It was like poking a dragon and breathing a sigh of relief because you hadn't been eaten...yet.
By the time he made it to the Middle Courtyard, the door to Classroom 1B cracked open and a white-haired head poked out and surveyed the hall. When those sapphire eyes landed on him, the door opened wider.
"Ah, Silvanus. I was expecting to see you."
"Oh? And why's that, Albus?"
"Because your little friend has already paid us a visit."
Albus opened the door wider to reveal the chaos inside. What had previously been inanimate objects appeared to have taken on a life of their own and were terrorizing the students—chasing after them, swooping down from the ceiling. There was even a pack of textbooks in the corner barking and growling at anyone who dared get too close.
"I suppose Armando doesn't know yet?"
The way Albus tilted his head and looked sideways at him implied that it was a rhetorical question, but Kettleburn decided to humor him anyway.
"No, no. Didn't want to bother him with it just yet."
"No, of course not. No sense in that if we can handle it ourselves, I suppose."
With the two of them working together, well, maybe Armando wouldn't find out after all. They could put everything back to normal and he'd be none the wiser. Kettleburn would have to strike Wild Elves from the curriculum, of course, but it seemed like a small price to pay in lieu of everything.
"Did you happen to see which way he went?" Kettleburn asked. Albus nodded to the right, so they headed in that direction with Albus taking the lead and Kettleburn doing his best to keep up.
"Where do you think he got off t—" Kettleburn started as they entered another corridor, but he was interrupted by a shout coming from round the next corner.
"SILVANUS!"
The vowels in his name were drawn out, lending an eerie banshee effect as it bounced around the halls.
"I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that Galatea has discovered your little secret," Albus said.
"That's just bloody brilliant," Kettleburn grumbled. For a second, he considered slinking away to hide in some dusty corner of the castle until things blew over, but no, this was his mess to fix. Even if it meant bearing the brunt of Galatea's wrath, regardless of the fact that she was as cuddly as a chimaera when she was angry.
Albus stopped short, and it was all Kettleburn could do to avoid plowing into his back.
"What is it?"
"Oh, nothing. I just thought you should do the honors."
Albus smiled harmlessly, but Kettleburn furrowed his brow and scowled. Damn him and his good sense.
Galatea looked absolutely livid as Kettleburn rounded the corner with Albus a few steps behind. Her arms were crossed, lips pursed almost into nonexistence, and her foot was tapping a fervent rhythm on the floor.
"What have you done now? This has your name written all over it, Silvanus."
"Is there a problem, Galatea? A witch of your caliber can't handle a little Wild Elf?"
"You wh—No, no." She held up a hand as she regained her composure, though a vein continued to throb at the base of her neck. "Whatever hare-brained scheme you've concocted that's led to this, fix it. My second years are currently fending off suits of armor."
Before Kettleburn had a chance to ask, a suit of armor came ambling around the corner, its pieces rattling and clanking as it moved of its own accord. With a mix of fascination and horror, they watched as it walked past, paying them no heed, and entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Kettleburn made the mistake of glancing back at his colleague, who raised her eyebrows in that infuriating "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" way that was so very hard to stomach. Bloody witch. He had every intention of telling her so, but before he could muster the words, someone else poked their head around the corner of the hall. Kettleburn half wished it was another suit. That, at least, would've been a more welcome addition.
"Ah, Headmaster Dippet. Nice of you to join us," Albus commented.
"Did any of you see a...suit of armor pass by here?" The furrowed brow and hesitant tone made it all too clear that the headmaster was doubting his own sanity. Not for the first time, Kettleburn found himself echoing the sentiment, but it wasn't like he was in any position to pass judgment.
"Somebody thought it'd be a good idea to release a Wild Elf into Hogwarts."
"A what? Whoever would be that daft? Why, I should—" the headmaster paused as his eyes fell on Kettleburn, who was quietly inching towards the classroom. "Oh, I see. Yes, of course. Silly me. Silvanus, you and I will need to have a discussion about your decisions."
"But sir..."
Kettleburn let the words trail off as a familiar pop echoed through the hallway. It was probably for the best, anyway. There had been no time to think up a proper explanation. So much had been going on that excuses were a bit low on the list of priorities.
Now, he found himself staring into large, blue eyes as the Wild Elf stood in the middle of them, holding his fingers together. How could such a simple gesture look so menacing? It was almost impressive.
"You aren't happy? Theod understands. One more present for you all and Theod will go."
"Wait!" Kettleburn lunged for the Elf, but with a sneer, he snapped his fingers.
The world spun out of control. As used as he was to Apparating, Kettleburn had to squeeze his eyes shut just to keep from heaving what was left of his breakfast. The world pitched around him, his stomach churned, his head felt light...and then it stopped. The world fell still.
"For the love of Merlin, what was th—"
Kettleburn went to stroke his stubble as he spoke, but he received, instead, a fistful of thin hair. Frowning, he ran a hand down the length of it, following it to his chest. A beard? When had that happened?
He glanced up in time to see someone topple onto the ground. There was something familiar about him, as he struggled to get up. It took a moment, as he trailed his gaze down the red robes that obscured the face to the prosthetic leg, to realize. That was him. Or his body, at the very least.
"You know, this is much more difficult than it looks. How do you do it, Silvanus?" That voice was decidedly his, but who was it that was wearing his body like a well-tailored suit?
"Lots of practice," he muttered, glancing down at the dark-blue robes draped over his thin frame. He'd heard that voice far too many times to mistake it. With a frown, he ran his hand over his bald head. Armando. Of all the people, he was in the headmaster's body.
"Oh my, Galatea. What is it you're wearing?"
It was all Kettleburn could do to choke back his laughter as he glanced to his left, where Galatea's body was turning in circles while pulling at her rear end, a pained frown creasing her face.
"Headmaster Dippet! What are you doing?"
On his right, Albus looked positively mortified, and a flush was creeping across his pale features. It was an interesting change from the normally passive demeanor that seemed to almost come naturally to him. The faux shrillness that the deep voice attempted to take on meant it could be none other than Galatea.
"I'm sorry, Galatea, but there seems to be something climbing into my bum. Er, your bum."
"Those are tights, and need I remind you that women do not adjust their undergarments in public. Please, be mindful that you are in someone else's body."
"Sorry to interrupt, but could someone give me a hand? If it's not too much to ask." Albus looked up from where he had collapsed on the ground, having given up the idea of standing after the first four failed attempts.
"I would, but, uh, well...you see...hrm..."
"Something wrong?" Albus asked.
"No, no, it's not that. It's just...they're sort of in the way..."
Kettleburn could restrain himself no longer. As Armando—or rather Galatea's—cheeks reddened, the laughter broke free. It sounded thin and dusty, and he had to remind himself that he was borrowing someone else's voice. Even a minute of full-body laughter made his lungs ache and wheeze. How did the old man even drag himself out of bed in the morning at this rate?
"He's got breasts! Your breasts are in the way!" he choked out against the tightness in his lungs as he tried to quell the laughter before he damaged a body that wasn't his.
"Why, you insolent—How dare you talk about my body that way!" Even in someone else's body, Galatea managed to be absolutely terrifying. Worse yet, she reached into the sleeve of her robe and pulled out Albus' wand, pointing it straight at Kettleburn's chest.
"Do be careful with that, Galatea. I'm afraid it can be a bit temperamental," Albus warned, and no sooner had the words left his mouth than red sparks blazed off the end of the wand, threatening to set the headmaster's robes on fire. Kettleburn brushed the embers off quickly. He was in enough hot water as it was without fanning the flames.
"Do remember whose body it is you're threatening," Armando said.
"Of course. I apologize, sir." Galatea pursed her lips—a threatening gesture for the witch, but quite unbecoming for the middle-aged wizard.
"And as for you." Dippet turned cold, gray eyes toward Kettleburn. They were no less threatening with the ancient wizard behind them than the war-beaten witch they belonged to.
"Aw, c'mon, sir, it was an honest mistake, I swear. I thought it'd be good for the students and all."
"While I have no doubt your intentions were good, a Wild Elf does not belong at Hogwarts. Honestly, Silvanus." Armando paused to survey his mismatched professors once before continuing. "As soon as we get this mess sorted, I want you in my office to discuss your probation."
"Yes, sir."
There was no sense in arguing. Things could have ended worse. At least he hadn't been fired—this time.